Heat
by Isailaway
Summary: She was trying to kill him; was absolutely going to be the death of him. AU - some smut. *blushes*.
1. Chapter 1

******Sorry...Richard and Camille made me do it!**

**I am going back to writing moments but this sort of demanded to be written. Please don't read if it's not your thing etc etc. There aint much plot - just smut. **

**Disclaimer: Characters and TV series not mine. **

* * *

**Heat**

She was trying to kill him; was absolutely going to be the death of him.

As if the heat and humidity were not making him hot enough, Camille was raising his temperature in an undeniably different, but equally uncomfortable way.

It was unbearable and it was wearing him down. His resistance was weakening.

Trying to distract himself, he wondered what a coroner would make of it.

A white middle-aged male, slightly - no definitely - thinning on top and nicely cultivating a small paunch around his middle. Dressed formally, oddly so in this relaxed Caribbean environment, in white shirt with a blue tie and dark suit. Sat at his, the detective inspectors, desk in Honore Police Station, mouth open, staring sightlessly ahead of him.

Richard supposed that it was not uncommon for men only a few years older than he to die at their desks; victims of a heart attack or a stroke from the pressure of work, so to an outsider it might not look unusual. They would never know that the constant taunting and teasing of his DS; the months of long naked limbs (clad in oh so short shorts) stretched out atop the desk which lay only a few yards across from his, had finally increased his heart rate and blood pressure to such an extent that his body had given up on him.

How would she feel to know she had done him in?

Would she follow the clues to work out why he had died? Would there be any clues to follow? He frowned briefly, wondering whether she knew how he felt, what she did to him.

Would she arrest herself for involuntary manslaughter? Were her actions involuntary? Sometimes he doubted it very much.

Richard allowed himself a small chuckle, lost in his brains meanderings.

"Sir… Richard?"

He refocused as Camille clicked her fingers in his general direction to garner his attention, swinging her legs down from the desk to lean forwards on her elbows.

Well that certainly wasn't going to help he thought frustratedly, looking at her mildly concerned face so that his eyes would not drift downwards.

Today's choice of clothes was a navy blouse with short-capped sleeves, which fit her like a glove. The top button or two had been left undone. Not enough to be revealing; too much to stop his mind wandering.

She had matched the blouse with an almost knee length skirt in a light tan colour. He had almost sighed with relief that morning when she walked in dressed in a skirt, believing it would give him some respite; would mean she had to keep her legs underneath her desk in a more ladylike conventional fashion.

But no.

She appeared to have the gymnastic ability to swing both legs gracefully around together into their preferred position, neatly crossed on the edge of her desk.

It seemed he could not avoid her, or some part of her, whichever direction he looked in.

"Sir, are you well?"

Oh God, and now she was coming his way.

Richard watched as Camille manoeuvred effortlessly around the desks, his gaze drawn to the graceful line of her throat as she flicked errant curls back over her shoulder. She perched on the table directly in front of him and leant forward to lay a soft hand upon his brow.

"You feel warm, but I don't think you have a fever." Richard knew it was a rhetorical question and she wasn't expecting an answer, which was a reprieve for him. Mouth dry, he felt totally incapable of speech.

She slipped her hand around and beneath his collar to check the heat at the base of his neck, sending a jolt of electricity through him. He had become more comfortable with her invading his space recently; had allowed her small touches and caresses and even begun to enjoy them. But this was taking it to a whole new level.

She was still talking he realised, something about them being the only two in the office that day so it would be acceptable in anyone's book for him to remove his jacket and tie. He decided on balance, it was better to remain still and acquiesce. He had been lost in a haze of desire for too long that day, and temptation was too close.

If Camille was confused or concerned by his lack of communication or argument, she didn't let it show. With cool efficiency she slid her other hand up to grasp the lapel of his jacket and gently slithered it down his arms, tugging gently to pull it out from behind him. Richard lent forward to assist then regretted the movement as it brought him inches from the opening of her blouse. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and took a gulp of air to clear his spinning head. It didn't help at all. Camille's perfume enveloped him and flowering red and burgundy shades decorated the inside of his eyelids accompanied by shimmering silver stars.

Arousal swirled through him.

Warming to her task now, Camille was pulling at his tie, trying to loosen the knot whilst muttering to herself.

Feeling her move and then pull back, dropping her fingers, Richard felt a panic grip him; panic that she would stop, anxiety that she wouldn't. Warring with the craving it was making him feel slightly sick. He opened his eyes carefully, then widely….and forgot how to breathe.

Stood tall in front of him, she was hitching her skirt up her smooth legs, just high enough so that she could stand astride his thighs and attack the tight knot from a new angle. Small puffs of her breath fanned his face. He didn't know where to look. A different man, any other man would read the signals she was surely sending, and crush his lips to hers. But how could he, when he was who he was and she….. well she was simply out of his league. So he busied himself staring at the ceiling.

Camille growled, low in her throat; frustrated by the uncooperative knot he assumed. It sounded very French, suggestive and shot burning arrows at the heat pooling in his loins. He shifted uncomfortably; trying to ease the tightness in his trousers but merely succeeded in frictioning his thighs against the inside of Camille's. It was a delightful sensation and one he wanted to repeat, if only to test whether her hiccupped intake of breath was linked to his movement.

Suddenly the knot was free. Camille flicked his top two buttons open with her thumb and finger, then stopped and straightened. Without conscious thought, Richard lifted his hands to her skirt clad hips as if to prevent her moving away. She studied his face intently then leant forward whisper in his ear.

"There will be no-one but us in the office for hours."

It wasn't an overtly suggestive remark. It _could_ have been made entirely innocently, and he could use that to back down. Get out of the situation. If he wanted to. Did he want to?

His heart thudded in his chest. He had to be dreaming. This kind of thing didn't happen in real life. Especially not to him.

"Richard?"

His eyes drifted from the deep brown of her eyes, to her lips and back. She was biting her lip gently; seemed almost as unsure as he of giving into the temptation that was overwhelming them.

The ostensible lack of her customary assurance was his undoing. Heart thudding, he gripped her hips more firmly and pulled her into him, the pressure of his lips against hers drowning out the almost inarticulate cry she made. One of assent and triumph and arousal all rolled into one. He was not so lacking in life skills that he couldn't recognise THAT sound and it sent wave upon wave of elation running through his body.

Greedily he kissed her, her mouth opening under his assault and her tongue probing his. He felt her hands twine themselves up and around into his hair, urging his head up, holding it prisoner and vying for dominance whilst simultaneously lowering her body to sit astride him on the wheelie chair.

It wasn't enough. He needed to feel more of her.

Releasing his grip on her hips, he slid his hands around behind her, caressing and searching impatiently for bare skin at her waistband then restlessly stroking up and down the graceful lines of her legs. Her gentle moan emboldened him and he slipped his fingers beneath the rucked skirt, smoothing across the delicate sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

"Oh God, don't stop," Camille dragged her mouth from his to gulp in air urgently, tugging at his shirt to find bare skin of her own to discover.

Richard couldn't think, didn't want to think. He _ought to think_ he registered dimly but his head was whirling. Camille surrounded him. The scent and sound and feel and taste of her was too much. It was all and everything, and he could do no more than focus on dipping his tongue into the hollow of her neck and feel her sigh in response and arch her head back to encourage him.

As her hands moved purposefully downward to unfasten his belt, the circular caresses of his fingers reached the lacy edge of her underwear. He toyed with the edge then dipped beneath.

For a few moments, the world ground to a halt. Camille shuffled to allow Richard space to explore then became still. All that could be heard in the quiet office were small gasps and exhaled pants until she hastily batted his hands away to reach again for his belt.

Fumbling and grasping, and shifting, only removing as much clothing as was strictly necessary, Richard risked glance upward to look at Camille's face. She was beautiful and vivacious and fantastic and…..she looked up, and melted his heart.

Her expression was one of frustration that his actions had paused, combined with a mild anxiety that he might be about to reign in his lust. There was a hint of shyness to start her growing smile but with a definite predatory gleam in there too when he made no move to draw a halt to the situation.

Slowly, holding his gaze, Camille rose, and then lowered herself onto the full, engorged length of him. She lifted her hands to his shoulders to give herself extra purchase and repeated the motion again.

And again.

The unhurried, deliberate action couldn't last. Brown eyes refused to release green as their speed amplified. Richard returned his hands to Camille's hips and pulled her down hard onto him, her delighted squeal almost tipping him over the edge.

Their movement became sloppy and unfocused, her rocking, him jerkily thrusting. The chair groaned in protest.

Richard was close, didn't think he could hang on, couldn't…. and then they were there. He tumbled after Camille as she tightened reflexively around him, his toes curling and his eyes rolling back as he sighed out her name.

...

The haze slowly cleared, leaving them with a growing awareness of sticky warmth, tired quadriceps and a chair that now seemed in danger of collapse. Richard didn't want to move and break the spell, but it was going to be necessary. He stroked Camille's arm absently, wondering what came next. He knew he ought to feel it was a mistake, but was unable to bring himself around to actually practice that feeling.

Nor was he quite able to put into words the myriad of emotions swirling around his body.

"Is that what always happens?" Camille broke the silence.

"What?"

"When you remove an Englishman's tie. Is that what always happens?" There was a trace of devilment in her tone.

"Cami….." he broke off as she continued.

"…..because if I'd known that THAT was how you'd react, I might have tried it a long long time ago." She giggled. A joyous sound that rippled through him.

The chair creaked and shifted slightly.

"We need to…."

"I know."

"So can you. Err, would you….?" He might have altered his relationship with her irrevocably; might have shown her a whole new side to him. But he felt he would forever feel slightly tongue-tied when discussing anything that was not work with her.

"In a minute." Camille smilingly replied, kissing him full on the lips.

"Camille," he growled. "Someone could walk in. This doesn't look good."

"Oh I don't know," she countered teasingly, hushing his reaction with more kisses.

She was trying to kill him; was absolutely going to be the death of him.

**Please Review, even if only to tell me (nicely) not to do this again!**


	2. Chapter 2

**So - this wouldn't leave me alone...especially when Heather wrote her lovely review to make a suggestion. **

**Hope you like it. AN at the end. **

* * *

He was trying to kill her; was absolutely going to be the death of her.

Since his arrival on St Marie over two years ago, he had challenged her and aggravated her. He had infuriated her, and had managed to constantly surprise her.

He frustrated her in all sorts of different but equally uncomfortable ways and it was becoming unbearable. It was wearing her down.

She wondered what her friends in Paris would make of him. A white, almost middle-aged Englishman who didn't really make the best of his receding hairline and who insisted on wearing a suit, long-sleeved shirt and tie to work each day in 100 degree heat. A man who would silence his team with a glare and expect utter focus, with very little down time. Who would rant about the weather, or the lack of fresh milk in the paradise they all lived in, and lament about his home country on a daily basis.

She suspected she knew what their initial opinion of him would be. A year ago she would have agreed with them. A week ago she would have contradicted them. She would have told them of the shyness and lack of social skills that hid his true nature. She would have told of his ability to create and nurture and manage the successful team they had become. She would have decorated her explanation with examples of his kindness to victims and to his friends, examples of his problem solving in difficult cases, and his resolve to mark each one down as a team effort, refusing to push himself into the limelight. A week ago it would have been hard to hide how she had fallen for him, although he himself appeared for the most part to be totally oblivious.

And now? Now she had been shown a little slice of heaven. She had felt him move inside her, and hold her and caress her. She had experienced ecstasy at his hands and she didn't believe there was any way back for her. She wanted him all the time. In places and at times which were wholly inappropriate and downright unprofessional, but she couldn't help it.

He would smile nervously at her as he climbed into the passenger side of the Defender on a morning, or fiddle with his damn tie in the middle of a difficult interview with a suspect and she would be squirming in her seat. A heat rising in her cheeks, and in additional places she shouldn't be thinking about.

It had been made a whole lot worse by the distinct lack of communication since that unforgettable hour in the office a week ago.

Soon; too soon afterward, the phone had begun to ring insistently; a body had been found, brought up in a fishing trawlers net less than a mile off the coast. With little forensic information to go on, the difficult case had quite rightly taken priority over their indefinable relationship, and had occupied their time since.

He had, it was true, stayed for drinks at her mothers a few nights in a row, which was a departure from his usual routine during a case. And the beautiful shy smiles, which he was gracing her with each morning when she picked him up, suggested he didn't totally regret what had happened but it wasn't enough.

Not nearly enough.

Camille would like to pretend that her primary desire was for them to sit down together and talk, just the two of them. Before last week, she would fondly imagine either Richard asking her out on a date. A nice restaurant somewhere out of town and away from prying eyes. Or her wandering down the beach one twilight after work to share a beer, look at the stars and perhaps end the evening by acknowledging something of their feelings for one another, getting to know one another in a new light. But whereas this was truly important to her; after all, she knew how she felt about him and was confident on the type of man he was that he simply would not have allowed what happened to happen if he did not have some sort of feeling for her. Whereas this was important to her, what she categorically wanted now was more of him. In any or a hundred of the different scenarios she had created in her head.

In clothes or out of them, inside or outside in the humid air. At her flat or his shack. In the back of the defender, or even just up against it. Camille truly believed he was going to kill her.

She glanced across at him, sat hunched over the coroners report on his desk, his brow furrowed and hand massaging back and forth across his temple muttering to himself. He was close to a breakthrough she felt; having observed him enough times, followed him through enough cases to recognise the signs. The pieces were starting to come together. An hour ago, when she had handed him the test results on the shard of metal found embedded in the wound on the victims skull; most definitely not matching that of a boats propeller, she had almost seen the light bulb illuminate in his head.

He had ditched the jacket today, so at least he didn't look quite so uncomfortably hot, but it had had the disadvantage of focusing her attention onto his tie; a pale grey with soft yellow swirls on it. And surely he must know by now what affect his neckwear had upon her.

She hated that, unlike herself, he could apparently switch off all distractions whilst he worked; well she hoped the very least she could describe herself as was a distraction.

"Got it!...Bloody Hell!" Richard thumped his hands on the desk and looked across at his DS.

Camille appealed to him to continue with her eyes, hoping that her daydream of how to go about celebrating conclusions of cases in the future wasn't written too clearly across her forehead.

"Well…No, I can tell you on the way. Where are Dwayne and Fidel?"

"Interviewing potential witnesses up on the bluff." They had identified the most likely point of entry for the body into the water to be a popular spot around half an hour out of town, well known as a site for teenage trysts. It seemed like most things about this case were highlighting the lack of sex she was currently having.

"They need to be here, the Commissioner too. How long will it take to get everyone together?" He stood, stretching his back out.

Camille tapped her pen against her lips, and then sucked on it thoughtfully. "We could probably get everyone to the Hotel by the harbor by 6pm."

"Right. Ok, do that. Good." Richard turned away to pull photographs off the white board, adding them to the relevant reports atop his desk whilst Camille phoned the familiar numbers to arrange the meeting.

Five minutes later, he still had his back to her. Ostensibly absorbed.

"Sir."

"Hmm?" He replied but didn't turn around.

"Richard." Firmer this time.

"What is it Camille?" She watched him risk an apprehensive glance over his shoulder at her. Oh yes, he was trying to put off the inevitable. Discussing work was fine but moving forward personally now the case was all but solved?

"We have two hours." To talk she meant. She was certain she did but the words got stuck in her throat.

Richard spun round; eyes widening as he looked at her sat behind her desk. His gaze dropped to her lips, and then down further to trace the line of the strappy terracotta coloured top she was wearing today. Her stomach flipped and her nipples tingled, hardening beneath his stare.

Sod talking. She had to have him.

Clicking her fingers and pointing, she pushed herself into standing and moved across the office, heading for the empty cells.

"But…" Richard hesitated. He could hardly be in doubt of her meaning.

"In here. Now."

Reaching the bars, she turned, leaning back against the cool metal and watching his approach.

"Isn't this a bit open?"

Well he wasn't saying no then. Elation soared through her.

"More than your chair in the middle of the office?" She raised an eyebrow.

" Well, but how clean is it?" he prevaricated, stumbling slightly over the words as she altered her stance slightly, beckoning him.

"They clean it daily. Now shut up and kiss me." He had moved close enough that she could grab his shirt, and she pulled him to her, her lips eagerly meeting his.

Seizing the bars at either side of her head, Richard pressed himself hard against her, responding to her passion with surprising vigour. Maybe he had been more distracted by her than she gave him credit for, just clever at hiding it, was one of the more coherent thoughts that shot through her brain as she wound her hands around his waist then slipped them lower to pull his hips firmly against hers.

This wasn't going to last long. She felt permanently wet after the week spent longing for him. Camille groaned as he moved one hand to stroke her breast through the flimsy fabric of her top. Wrenching her mouth from his, she leant back as far as the bars would allow, trying to direct his lips to join in the exploration.

For a man usually so naïve with human emotions, he cottoned on quickly, brushing the top aside enough to lick and suck enthusiastically on the skin he had exposed.

Camille's legs felt weak, surely the only thing holding her up was Richards weight pinning her against the cylindrical bars and whatever the pounding of her heart was doing, it was certainly not directing much blood as far as her jelly like knees.

She tugged at his shirt, hands diving beneath to restlessly stroke the length of his back, digging sharp nails into his shoulder blade, not quite in protest, when he bit down on the nipple he had been lapping at. He retaliated, nipping at the underside of her breast, which released a torrent of noisy French nonsense before Richard hushed her with a hand across her mouth. The cells tended to transmit sound both through to the office on one side and out to the wider world via the small barred windows at the back of the building.

She relented. It wouldn't do to get caught now. She might die from the frustration.

As she released his shoulders, he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses up her throat and along her jawline to meet her lips once more, slowly lowering his hand to caress the sore tissue softly before continuing his path down her body.

_Damn!_ Camille started as she remembered her choice of attire that day. Skimpy shorts that might very well suit her, were not designed to be removed in haste. And slowing the process down was definitely not part of her agenda.

Richard pulled his mouth from hers at the change in atmosphere, following the movement of her hands as she slipped them between their bodies to pluck hastily but ineffectually at the buttons of her shorts.

"Let me." His voice was roughened and low. He placed his hands over hers and gently moved them aside. The insistent pulsing in Camille's groin intensified.

She watched his fingers, fascinated. With excruciatingly slow purpose, he undid the buttons, one after another then dipped his hand into the space created.

"Jesus Camille." Her eyes shot back up to meet his as he discovered her heat and slick readiness, his pupils dilating.

"I want….I want…." he tailed off, seemingly unable to find the words.

"Yes." Camille hissed in reply, her own hands moving urgently to his belt as he tugged at her shorts and underwear until they fell to the floor and she kicked them aside.

"Beautiful." He stroked across her stomach once, twice, before pressing her back once more against the black metal bars, guiding a long lithe leg up around his thighs as he pushed up into her in one smooth firm thrust.

It was fast and furious and if Camille had had even the slightest moment of concern that it might not be, could not possibly be as wonderful a second time, she knew now how wrong she was. She reached the edge a few moments after Richard, had felt him swell impossibly within her, his final thrust and the sound of her name tumbling from his lips tipping her over into wave after wave of glorious release.

An indefinable amount of time later, heart rates and breathing slowly returning to normal, she felt Richard press a kiss to her sweat moistened brow, moving himself carefully away from her to dress.

Shimmying her shorts back up over her hips, she took a breath before giving him no option.

"We are going to talk."

"I know." He smiled the half smile she now thought of as especially for her, and her heart clenched.

"So, we sort out this case. Send Dwayne and Fidel to fill in the paperwork and then we meet back at yours to discuss what is happening. What keeps happening?"

"Maybe not."

Camille's eyes widened. "What? Why? Richard we…." Richard raised both hands to calm her rising tone.

"I mean. Maybe not at my house."

Her shoulders dropped, tension dissipating again. "Why not?"

"Well….," he was hesitant, "…..we might not get much talking done," he finished shyly.

Heat rose to Camille's cheeks and her mouth curved up into a large smile. She couldn't help it. She was used to men finding her attractive. But this man. This felt different.

"Ok. Fine. Then we go out. You choose the location. Not my mothers."

"No," he chuckled, "not your mothers."

She watched as he finished tucking his shirt in, reaching forward to straighten his tie for him.

"So….."

"So…..," he broke off as the phone began to ring out in the office.

"Don't answer it."

"Camille, I have to. What if it's…."

"No. No new cases. We finish this one and then are off duty for the night."

He looked at her steadily as the phone continued to ring.

He was trying to kill her; was absolutely going to be the death of her.

* * *

**Please review! When I started writing this, they were going to have their tryst on the bunk Camille tried out when he locked her up in ep 1, but they got carried away and it didn't seem the right moment to have a heart to heart about what he thought she looked like in the bikini and a mans shirt sat in the cells...an idea for someone else perhaps? :-)**


End file.
